


Smudged Pencil

by vespirus



Series: Mixed Media [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Autism, Autistic Character, Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, Gen, Stimming, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespirus/pseuds/vespirus
Summary: He hadn’t really thought about it before, hadn’t realized it was an option. That he didn’t have to be a woman. That hating your body to the extent he did wasn’t actually all that “usual”.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> fuk lads im back again with another short fic about my main man sniper .. its set in the same universe as off-center portrait, just focusing on his being trans rather than his autism. prompts are welcome since i have trouble comin up with plots on my own but i do want to write stuff about sniper :'/ thanks for reading, i hope u enjoy! :)

When he heard stories about other people “like him”, it was always that they’d known since they were a baby. That they’d insisted right from the start. They recalled that everyone had seen “the signs”. Sniper hadn’t had any of that.

He’d been interested in hunting and nature and knives, but it was Australia. That was life. He even loved to draw and he spent hours knitting with his mother and when he made the effort to socialize, he gravitated towards girls. If he drove into town and hung around the art shop he would sometimes strike up a conversation with the woman at the cash register. She was real nice and would save things in the back for him if she thought he would like them.

All this and more and he’d never really questioned things. Everyone told him he was a girl, so sure. He was. The way he wore three layers in the heat and slouched into his rumpled vest and didn’t speak unless spoken to was just him being weird. He was weird about a lot of things. He stopped wondering about it.

Then things got.. Complicated.

One thing he hadn’t taken too long to figure out was that someone being a man or woman didn’t make much difference to his interest. He left the family farm without a backward glance. Once he started making connections (in more ways than one) he learned how to be discreet in his affairs. Both professionally (as a hired killer) and personally (as a bisexual hired killer).

Everything went fine for a while. He travelled, made a good amount of money, got to do something he was good at. And none of that horrible “social interaction” nonsense that seemed to come with so many other jobs. When he didn’t talk or tapped the table or rocked in his seat people assumed that’s just how he was, and either way knew better than to disparage someone who murdered for a living.

It got weird when he stopped off in San Francisco. Long story short, he had a few pleasing escapades and ended up falling in with the trans crowd in the area. He hadn’t really thought about if before, hadn’t realized it was an  _ option _ . That he didn’t  _ have _ to be a woman. That hating your body to the extent he did wasn’t actually all that “usual”.

He quietly contacted some people and got his hands on a good supply of testosterone. He had always dressed in “men’s clothes” so there wasn’t much to change except for finally getting around to throwing out those few dresses he’d kept because he could never really explain why he didn’t like them. Until now. He’d never gone by his first name anyway, so he could take as long as he wanted to choose a new name for himself. If he even wanted to. (He did. His relationship with his parents was tangled up and the thought of something they’d never touched and so  _ his _ and defining him in such a way sent a guilty thrill up his spine.)

He’d always had a problem with stubble because of the Australium, and the T helped his body really kick things into shape. The only problem was his chest. He’d heard about surgeries for that kind of thing, but he wasn’t sure he trusted anyone enough for that step. Doctors can be a tricky thing when you’re a lone sniper for hire with a lot of enemies and not many medical connections.

For now, he lived with it. Switched his undershirt for one of those fancy compression shirts. Looked in the mirror. Perfect. He grinned. Everything was falling into place so well when he hadn’t even realized there was something to be fixed.

As he settled into the idea of himself as  _ a man _ , his reputation lifted. He took more jobs, talked a little more, actually looked at people’s faces when they talked rather than staring at the table. (The sunglasses hid that he didn’t look anyone in the eyes, thank goodness.) He stood straighter, started to keep his arms at his sides when before he would’ve crossed them.

His rising reputation ended up being his downfall. He took a job he knew was risky but thought he could handle, fool that he was. It ended badly, of course. He woke up in a makeshift hospital room with his client nowhere in sight. He didn’t have time to regret all his life decisions one by one before he was offered a job from a young woman in a purple suit. He shrugged his good shoulder (the other was bandaged up after having a knife shoved into it during said bad ending) and signed on. Not like he had anything better to do.

So he got the job at Teufort. He met the team. They’re alright. He’s told about the respawn technology, and doesn’t really believe it, but after a couple weeks going through it time and time again you have to have some sort of trust in it to bring you back.

He kept to himself mainly, staying in his van off the base and not talking much. That was how he was though, so the team had better get used to it. It took a while but, but they did. The team eventually fell into a strong camaraderie. It would’ve been more difficult to stay unfriendly towards each other considering the conditions they’re under: getting killed together day in and day out tends to make for a begrudging trust if nothing else. Everyone settles in. They’re kind enough about his quirks (his  _ autism _ , he hears in Spy’s voice in the back of his mind) and he makes an effort to be friendly.

One night they got to talking about their families. He headed back to his van once the conversation started to dwindle, and sits heavily on his bed. He hadn’t talked to his parents in ages. Not since he first left the farm. Well, maybe there’d been a couple phone calls so they knew he was still alive and to tell them not to worry about what they saw in the papers. But it had been a while.

He scratched at his stubble and he looked down at the nondescript box by his bed. Inside it lay his testosterone shots, shipped to him on the base now.

It had been a  _ long _ while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper begins the laborious process of coming out. He finds some unexpected friends within the team.

That weekend he drove into the town, his radio at the perfect volume and his fingers tapping the wheel as he ran his tongue over his teeth over and over again. He parked by the one payphone in town and sauntered over to it, pulling his hat brim low. He stared at it for a while before his shaking hands pushed in the change for the call. He clicked the dial (he still knew the number by heart) and waited. It rang.

And rang.

...And rang.

Maybe they were both out of the house. Maybe they had gone up to town for the weekend. Maybe they’d died. Maybe they knew what he’d done and hated him and didn’t want anything to do with h-

“Hello?”

He nearly bit off his tongue at the familiar sound of his mother’s voice down the line. He coughed, went to speak, coughed again, and said

“Hey.”

“..I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s uh. It’s me, mum.”

“...What? M--”

He interrupted her with a cough.

“Uh. I don’t. You can just call me Mundy or somethin’, mum. I don’t really, uh. Fit that name anymore. As you’ve pro’ly guessed.”

“... _ Mundy _ . Darling.. What happened to you? Are you sick? We haven’t heard from you in years, we thought you were…”

“I’m fine. I, uh, got a job. The same thing, though. Just weirder. Get paid to run around with some other mercs and get shot at and stuff. Simple nine to five type thing.”

“That’s...good.”

“Yeah. The team was talkin’ all about their families and stuff tonight and it just.. Got me thinkin’. I’m sorry I haven’t called ya. Things got complicated. I didn’t think you’d… Well, you can hear my voice. The rest of me pretty much matches.”

“Oh, honey… We love you no matter what.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It take us some time to come around to the idea, but.. We’re just glad to know you’re still alive, darlin’. And you always were a bit different.”

“I.. Thanks, mum.”

“Anything for you, M-Mundy. We love you. And this means you can’t put off callin’ us anymore, y’hear?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled and they continued to chat about what had gone on in the past few years. He felt weird. Good, but.. Weird. Like he could feel the hollow in his chest as he took a breath. He felt lighter. It was good to be out. It was good to have his family back.

Once he got back to the base, it was a different story. He still felt like he was walking on air as he parked his van in the usual spot. As the engine shut down and he pulled the key out, he sat and thought. So his parents knew. And they had been good about it. Maybe he could risk talking to the team about it?

No, that was ridiculous. It wasn’t even their business anyway. They thought he was a man and that’s what he was. No extra needed. They didn’t need to know why he had back problems and why he didn’t shower with them and why he didn’t have any pictures from when he was a kid.

But Medic had been pretty blase about it… Maybe someone else on the team was in the same situation? He would kill (ha) to have someone else who  _ got it _ . But he didn’t want to risk this relatively easy and steady paying job just because he got a bit lonely now and then.

They already must know though, the higher-ups. And so what if he lost face in front of these clowns? He kept to himself. If they didn’t like it they could just never talk to him again. He’d try and have their back in a fight still, sure, but it’s not like he was known for being all that chatty with the rest of them anyway. He didn’t have that much to lose, really.

It just sucked. And it was hard. To put it into words, to say something like that out loud. Especially to someone else. Someone he worked with every day.  _ Fuck _ .

He’d do it. Maybe. But he wouldn’t do it all at once, stand up and make an announcement like some chump. He’d just tell them one by one in some sort of low-stakes environment. Or something. He’d know the opportunity when it hit. He just had to take advantage of it.

He and Demo are having their Bi Weekly Booze Up when it first comes up. Being halfway through the night and more than halfway through their second bottle of scrumpy does wonders to quell his anxiety. They’re both laughing hard over stories they’ve shared and Sniper wipes a tear from his eye and takes a swig and thinks to himself this is the best time he’s gonna get with Demo. So he takes a deep breath, and takes another big swig. And then he takes another deep breath and puts a hand on Demo’s shoulder.

“Mate, I’ve got somethin’ important to tell ya.”

“Aye?”

“I’m trans. A transgender man. Born with the wrong parts an’ all. Have to shoot myself up with chemicals to get the  _ sculp-ted musc-u-la-ture  _ you see before you.” He gestures extravagantly to his soft torso. Demo blinks and then booms a laugh. He claps Sniper hard on the shoulder.

“I wish y’da said somethin’ earlier, lad! Me too!”

Sniper fumbles with his glasses and peers back at Demo. He can’t possibly be saying what he thinks he’s saying. He must look shocked, because Demo looks at him and starts off laughing again.

“Aye, you’re not the only one! I didn’t say anythin’ since it’s already bad enough bein’ a Black Scottish cyclops. Didn’t need to be openly transgender too. Glad to know, though, lad! Now I can tell ya even  _ more _ ridiculous childhood stories.” Demo grinned toothily and threw back another swig of scrumpy. Sniper grinned back, his hands cold and his heart thumping, and took another drink himself. Fuck yes.

So that was one down, the rest to go. His talk with Demo had gone incredibly well (made even better by the fact that they both were able to remember it the next day) but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

The next round came when he was stuck at the base for a few days when the A/C of his van blew out and he had to wait for Engie to fix it. Truckie had other things on his plate, so it took the backburner for a couple days. Sniper just had to suck it up and stay at the base.

He ended up loitering in the common area most of the day, knitting or reading. By the end of the night though, he’s embroiled in a tense card game with Medic, Heavy, and Soldier. The time ticks by unnoticed by the players, until Scout wanders in yawning. He’s in what’s presumably his PJs (a sports jersey, shorts, and socks) and is headed straight for the kitchen. He startles when he hears one of them scoff and jumps around to stare at them.

“What’re you guys still doin’  _ up _ ?? It’s fuckin’ two in the morning!”

They all exchange looks of surprise. Scout pours himself a glass of milk and shakes his head as he heads back to his room. Once he’s gone they all go back to the cards.

“After this round, you should all sleep. We need our rest to be able to fight!” Soldier says, and Heavy nods and Medic and Sniper make noises of agreement. Sniper shifts uncomfortably, his back aching. Medic pushes his tiny glasses up his nose and narrows his eyes at him.

“Sniper, are you still wearing your binder?”

Sniper’s whole face felt red hot and he fidgeted with the cards in his hand. He sucked on his tongue, not wanting to answer, not wanting to acknowledge the question in front of Soldier and Heavy.

“You are, aren’t you!” Medic scoffed and Sniper sunk down in his chair.

“..Yah.” He mumbled, scratching at his ear and looking at the wood grains of the table.

“Eight hours! I tell you, eight hours you can wear it. You’re going to damage yourself, and not in any way the medigun can fix! Go take it off and go to sleep, we will resume the game tomorrow evening.” Medic started shuffling the cards into a pile resolutely.

“Aww, Doc, c’mon…” He complained halfheartedly. He was tired as hell. He did want to crawl back to his bunk and revel in the solitude. He wishes he had his van right now. He didn’t want to think about what Heavy or Soldier were thinking.

“Nein. Go.”

Sniper sighed and put his cards in a pile facedown. He stood, tipping his hat low and tapping the brim. His fingers fluttered, showing how tired he was that he was having trouble keeping his stimming under control. He dared a look at the group from the safety of his shaded glasses and hat.

Medic was putting the cards in order and clearing up the table. Heavy was looking at him with a calm expression. All was well on that front, then. Soldier looked the same as ever. Totally unaffected. Who knows if he even got the implications of what Medic had said. Sniper nodded to them and headed to his room for the night.

The next day was fighting as usual, and then in the evening they started their card game back up. Sniper kept tapping his cards on the table, trying to keep them perfectly in line. The sound was also nice. Medic glared at him when he did it for the fourth time in a row and he stopped.

They didn’t talk much through the game. They were mainly quiet people, and even Soldier could find it in him to dedicate himself to it. Once the room they were playing in was absent of anyone else, Sniper cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh.”

He could feel them all look at him.

“So..”

He swallowed.

“Like the Doc mentioned yesterday.. I’m trans. And all. So yeah.”

Medic went back to his cards, not interested anymore since he already knew what Sniper was talking about. Heavy nodded sagely and Soldier just shrugged.

“As long as you can still fight, soldier!”

“You are man. Tiny man, but man.”

Sniper scratched the back of his head and looked at his cards but couldn’t stop a small grin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper talks to Pyro, Scout, and Engie. Spy and Pauling talk to him.

Since he was on such a good kick, he just went for it at the next opportunity. They were in the middle of a fight and Pyro had found their way to his setup and was taking a moment to gather themself before rushing back in. Sniper glanced over to see who it was that had kicked in the door and exchanged a nod with Pyro. They had just adjusted the tank on their back and was about to step back out when Sniper blurted out, “I’m transgender.” He swallowed thickly and felt his neck prickling with nerves but turned back to check their reaction. Pyro just gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and what sounded like a muffled laugh and ran off. That went… Well?

He’ll take what he gets.

* * *

 

There was a knock on his camper door the next evening, and he answered it in confusion (with a bit of dread) to find Scout looking uncomfortable.

“Uh.. Somethin’ happen?”

“Nah, nothing’s goin’ on. Just wanted to talk to ya about something.”

Sniper stepped to the side to let Scout come in, and fidgeted by the kitchenette, not sure if he should be offering a drink or to just wait for Scout to speak. Thankfully he did speak so Sniper didn’t have to dwell on it too long.

“I, uh, Pyro told me that you, uh. Said you were trans.”

Sniper wrung his hands since Scout was looking down at his own lap and couldn’t see him.

“I… Yeah.”

It hung heavy in the air for a moment, and Sniper felt like he was going to suffocate and wondered if respawn would catch it if he did.

“I didn’t come to say nothin’ crappy.. Just. I am too. I guess.”

Sniper knocked his elbow on the corner of the kitchenette and swore. He held his elbow and looked at the kid, really looked. He looked tired. Small, and pretty wrung out. He shuffled through his cabinets and pulled out a big bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and a couple of glasses. He bit the cork off with his teeth and started pouring it out and Scout watched.

“Wine?”

“Well. Celebration, I guess. Demo is too, actually. We’ll have to go out together sometime. But if you wanna keep up with us you’ll need to start practicing,” He said as he finished pouring and handed a glass off to Scout. Scout stared into the yellow liquid and then tentatively took a sip. He flinched at the taste and Sniper chuckled and took a sip from his.

Scout braved another sip and managed to swallow it down and looked at Sniper, who smirked and Scout grinned back.

* * *

 

Engie was one of his closest friends on the base. They had a sort of mutual understanding of each other’s need for quiet and seclusion. Sniper figured Engie was a lot more charismatic than he was, but he definitely needed time to be by himself. Probably why he chose a more loner profession -- working in a garage all day pretty much gets you out of small talk most days. And with all those great designs he makes, he must be living in his head a lot of the time, which Sniper can understand.

Every now and again they would kick up their feet around Sniper’s campfire or in Engie’s workroom if the weather was too harsh. They usually talked some about the goings on of the base, but it usually faded to a comfortable silence. Engie tuned his guitar and sometimes would strum out some songs or practice something he didn’t want to play in front of the others yet. Sniper would knit or clean his guns or find something else to occupy himself. It was one of the best relationships he’s ever had, if he was being honest.

They were cozied up in Engie’s workroom because it had been raining all evening, and Engie was fiddling with some mechanical thing and Sniper had been stitching up a rip in one of his shirts. He had tied off the final stitch a few minutes ago and had been sitting there soaking up the companionship and trying to work himself up to saying it.

“Engie, I.. Uh. Wanted to tell ya somethin’.”

Engie peered over at him, giving him his full attention. Sniper quailed and fidgeted with the cloth in his hands for a moment, waffling. Engie took pity on him.

“Is it ‘bout what I’ve heard mention of recently from Pyro and Scout and th’ others in regards to you?”

“Uh. Probably.”

Engie nodded, satisfied, and went back to the gears and junk he was messing with.

“‘S all fine with me, slim. A man does what he’s gotta to be himself. None of my business, really.”

Sniper cast around for what to say to that, but ended up just nodding. In a minute he fully processed what had just happened and slumped down in his seat, relieved. Engie didn’t spare him a glance, but the corner of his mouth turned up.

* * *

 

He was walking towards his room on base when he turned a corner and Spy was leaning against the wall and puffing a cigarette. He glanced at Sniper then looked away, staring straight forward at the wall as he spoke.

“I’ve heard what you’ve been doing around the base. I wanted to address it before you tried to corner me to do some confession that I’m sure is inspiring and tearful. As you’ve discovered, you’re not the only one on the base that’s out of the norm, and I’m no exception. Just don’t expect any sort of special treatment.”

Sniper rolled his eyes and looked back over to where Spy was, but there was only wisping smoke. He rolled his eyes again for good measure. What a melodramatic bastard.

* * *

 

Ms. Pauling stopped by for a check-in the next week. The others (aside from Scout, but she brushed him off) all seemed to find things to do to look like they were working hard, and so when Sniper came in to scrounge for food on base it was just him and Pauling in the kitchen.

“Er.. Can I get you anything?” He asked when he noticed her at the entrance. He paused in the middle of making a kind of pathetic sandwich.

“Yes, I’ll take a sandwich too if you’re making them.” She sat down at the table and he awkwardly made another and sat down adjacent to her. She accepted her sandwich with a smile and a gracious “Thank you, Sniper.” and they chowed down in silence for a moment or two. Sniper finished before her and rolled his shoulders nervously.

“Ms. Pauling, I--”

“It’s all noted down in your file, Sniper, I already know. And our employer seems to make a point of employing people from alternative walks of life,” she gave him a meaningful look, “so I’m not surprised.” She dusted her crumbs off her dress and stood up.

“You do excellent work and continue to be a good hiring choice. So keep it up, and you’ll be fine.” She nodded and left. Sniper was a little in shock, but that was Pauling all over. Professional to the core. Very trustworthy, predictable. Sniper liked her style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i implying paulings trans? that shes a lesbian? both? who knows.... (Its Both.)  
> sauvignon blanc is one of new zealand's top wines! also ngl got the wine idea from @morpheusenmemori who has a top notch trans spy fic in progress rn, so u should go check that out !  
> that's all i've got for this fic for now, but if you've got any ideas hmu with those sweet prompts anytime


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